


about that tie

by uniformly (scramjets)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scramjets/pseuds/uniformly
Summary: But now Babe’s thinking about it. He’s overthinking it. Julian in context of the tie. Like one of those fairy tales or cautionary stories, the question looming in front of him: If he takes off the tie, what happens? Will it be more like unwrapping a present, or will the magic disappear? Does he want to even know?Babe and Bill own a coffee shop.
Relationships: Babe Heffron/John Julian
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Heavy Artillery Rare Pair 2021 Gifts & Extras





	about that tie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anthrobrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthrobrat/gifts).



> I basically wrote this in two stints because the idea wouldn't leave me alone, hahaha.
> 
> (I'm not a barista, but I do have a terrible coffee habit that I can't break so here we are. Please excuse all errors, they're trying their best. HBO representation only.)

“Tell him,” Bill jabs him in the shoulder, “tell him what you said in the middle of the rush hour.”

Babe draws in a breath, “I said that he calls me Babe because it’s my nickname, and not because we're dating.”

“That’s not the whole story,” Bill says.

“Fuck you.”

There’s a pause, before Babe relents and tells Skip, “I said it while I was handing over his change.”

Skip doesn’t laugh. He’s smiling, but he doesn’t laugh, not yet anyway. “Uh huh,” is all he says about it.

Bill adds, “He’s an office drone--”

“No he isn’t--”

“He wears,” Bill gestures, “ _ties_ \--”

“Jesus Christ, Guarnere,” Babe says, “what is it with you and ties?”

“And he basically yells it at this guy,” Bill’s telling Skip, “‘Babe’s just a nickname!’” and he mimes throwing something, “‘here’s your change!’”

“Maybe we should start using your actual name,” Skip says.

“What, Edward?” Babe says, “No one calls me that.”

“He wouldn’t answer anyway.”

Babe rolls his eyes and moves from the register to start on Skip’s coffee. Bill’s too busy talking, telling him all about how often the guy comes in, what his order is, all the obsessive detail that would usually have Babe be the one going, “Jesus Christ, you sure you ain’t the one into him, Guarnere?” But he doesn’t, because it seems kind of petty, and it’s too close to the truth anyway. For him, not so much Bill, and he cops enough without having to give him anything else. 

“Strong latte,” Babe calls out when it's ready, and he hears Skip go, “I’ll catch you later, Bill,” before he comes round to pick up his drink.

“Yeah,” Babe says, “you don’t start either.”

“Muffin?” Skip reminds him.

“I was getting that,” Babe says, even though he wasn’t nowhere close to getting that, having to take one from the sweets cabinet and heat it up. 

He tosses in a handful of jam and butter packets into the paper bag with the muffin, and Skip goes, “Good luck!” and Babe chooses to think he’s talking about the day, because it’s been pretty non stop since 6:30AM, with the line headed right out the door.

It's all settled now though, and for the next hour, and Babe’s taking stock, and thinking about making another order with Renee for some baklavas and apple danishes, when the doorbell jangles, and someone walks in. Babe sets down his paperwork, and heads to the register.

“Afternoon,” the guy says, even though it’s closer to nine thirty than it is to midday.

He’s kind of solid, pretty handsome; dark haired, with a soft jawline. Babe gets a sense that he’s being sized up by him, but some of the intensity of the stare, the crease between the brows, is undone by how tired the guy looks. 

Babe says, “Hey, what’ll it be?”

The sort of glare slides off the guy’s face. “Small coffee, three shots.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a long shift coming up.”

The visit falls between the morning rush, and the later morning pick-me-up of the truly addicted, so it only takes a minute or two to make the coffee and hand it across. 

The guy doesn’t leave immediately. Instead he stands there for a short while just holding it, and before Babe can ask if there’s a problem, the guy says, “You know Julian, right.”

“I…” Babe says.

“John Julian,” the guy clarifies. “Works around the area. Kinda skinny, always wears that blue tie. Graduation gift, by the way.”

Babe finds something to clean to keep his hands busy, and almost knocks over a half-filled jug of milk for the effort. 

“Shit, man,” he says, “look, yeah, I know him.”

“It’s fine,” the guy says, and it looks like he’s about to say something else, and Babe’s ready for whatever it is, he’s been in his fair share of brawls, when the guy just leaves.

That’s exactly how it tells the story to Bill later, once night has descended outside and the doors have closed. He’s counting the register, but only really has a bunch of one dollar bills bunched in his fist like he’s ready to deck someone.

“He walked out. Didn’t say anything else,” Babe goes, “is that. Is that-- Did he threaten me? Jesus Christ, I have no idea. I mean, I think I could take him on if it comes down to that, but does that mean I’m in some kind of… Do people-- was he his boyfriend or something? He said that tie you hate was a graduation gift, so that’s gotta mean… something. It’s gotta mean something.”

“Ask him what it means,” Bill says.

Bill’s stacking the chairs on the tables so that he can mop the floors. The fitout of the cafe is mostly dark wood to match the coffee beans: the flooring, the wood panel accents on the walls, the chairs and tables. The bright spots are the hanging lights in wire cages coming down from the ceiling. Bill had wanted to call the cafe _Bean There, Done That_ , and maybe he would’ve gotten it his way if Babe’d been drinking at the time, but Babe had been 100% percent sober and had vetoed it. Sometimes the name comes to him in the middle of a day, and he has to stop and ask Bill, or text him, or whatever, “Are you serious? _Bean There, Done That_?”

As it is, the sign on the wall behind the register and espresso machine says: _I’ll Do It Latte_.

“Ask him what it means,” Bill says again, “about the tie.”

“I mean,” Babe says, suddenly deflated, “yeah, obviously.”

He returns to the register for a second, staring at the notes and the shining coins like he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. Then he takes a breath, and finishes counting, and takes it all out to deposit. Bill mops the floors, and together they fix up the last few things that need fixing up before they head out and lock up shop for another day.

x

Julian’s there the next morning, bright and early and wearing the blue tie again.

Babe asks him, “Where’d you get the tie?” before he can even think about it. 

It’s a nice sort of tie, as far as ties go. There’s flashes of silver thread shot through it, and a logo of some sort dappled all over. It isn’t the same brand of tie that Babe had worn during prom at seventeen, overly-glossy, and incredibly stiff yet somehow covered in creases. He’d ripped it off at the first chance, and had stuffed it behind the punch bowl, and somehow the tie ended up trampled on the dance floor.

“Oh.” Julian says, “it was a graduation present.”

“Yeah?”

The conversation doesn’t get any further than that in the morning rush. One moment Julian’s there, and the next he’s gone again, along with his skinny latte, and Babe-- he doesn’t want to scream or anything like that, but he’s annoyed at his own timing, asking the question now instead of waiting until Julian’s back for coffee number two in a couple hours’ time, but the sad thing is that he doesn’t even turn up for coffee number two. 

“Aw,” Skip Muck says when he comes in, “what’s that face for. You ain’t happy to see me?”

“He’s happy to see you,” Bill calls out from the store room, “but you’re not the Blue Tie Guy, so he’s not gonna be jumping for joy.”

“Blue Tie Guy?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, “you know. Wears a blue tie.”

Babe tells him to shut up unless he has anything useful to say, and finishes up Skip’s Americano. 

“I’m sorry about your Blue Tie Guy,” Skip says, smiling.

“I don’t even like ties,” Babe tells him, “but it’s kinda pretty, and matches his eyes.”

“You sure you’re after the guy?”

“Bill, remember that thing your mama said?”

Bill finally steps out of the store room, huge bag of coffee beans under each arm. “Dunno. Ma said a lot of things.”

“Babe,” Skip says, “Babe, hand me one of those cookies, will you?”

Babe grabs a napkin, and a cookie studded with choc chips, and hands it over at the same time he tells Bill, “I was talking about the thing she said about only opening your mouth when you had something useful to say!”

“What the hell are you on about.” Bill dumps the bags behind the counter. “Have you really thought about it? Maybe it’s not the guy at all, but the tie.”

“Jesus Christ.”

This time Skip’s laughing, and he leaves with another, “Good luck,” that Babe assigns to the bags of coffee on the floor.

But now Babe’s thinking about it. He’s overthinking it. Julian in context of the tie. Like one of those fairy tales or cautionary stories, the question looming in front of him: If he takes off the tie, what happens? Will it be more like unwrapping a present, or will the magic disappear? Does he want to even know? 

The thought chases him around for the rest of the work day, and by the end of it Babe finds himself sitting at one of the smaller tables of the cafe, head in his hands, while Bill’s harassing him to get out so he can stack and mop. 

“What happens,” Babe asks, voice muffled, “if the tie comes off and he’s just _some guy_.”

“Heffron,” Bill says, firmly, “I dunno about you, but I want to go home. I stink like milk, and there’s coffee dust in my hair, and Fran’s got dinner waiting. Haul your ass out, or I’ll do it myself.”

Babe hauls out. “You remember when you were first dating Fran,” he says, “and you asked me to get to your house early and fill up the tub because you were stuck in traffic.”

Bill sighs, and sets the chair he’s holding back to the floor. “You’ve been mooning over this one for weeks now, and there’s nothing more I can do for you than tell you to ask him.”

“About the tie? I already asked him about the tie.”

“I’m gonna throw this chair at you.”

Babe grins at him, and then the grin disappears. “Okay,” he says, “okay, I’ll ask.”

x

Babe ends up asking about the guy, the one who’d dropped in the other day and asked for a triple shot.

“Spina,” Julian says almost immediately, “we grew up next door to each other. He’s a paramedic.”

“Yeah?” Babe says, pouring milk into a cup as he speaks. “He’s your friend?”

He did not mean to say ‘friend’, but Julian nods either way.

“Yeah, like I said, we grew up together. We’ve known each other forever. He’s getting married soon actually, and I’ve been stuck on the Best Man’s speech for ages now, mostly because there’s so much shit I want to fit in, and he knows it, so I’m only allowed to speak for five minutes tops.”

Babe’s laughing by the end of it, and if he’s being honest with himself, the bulk of the laughter is due to relief.

x

“How long have you had the shop?” Julian asks one morning.

“Oh, uh, we opened nearly a year ago, sort of,” Babe says, “I’d taken a break from college to save up some cash, and got a job here making coffee. That was about three or four years ago, I think. Bill was already here, he showed me all the ropes. The lady who owned it let us run it. She was-- definitely someone, and she went down to Florida eventually, but before she goes she asks me and Bill, ‘you want to keep the shop?’ and _we_ thought she meant ‘did you want me to keep it open’, so we said yes, that’d be great if you could. Anyway, next thing we know, she’s signed everything over to us, the lease, the keys, and we’re sort of panicking by that point because that’s significantly more than we’d expected. But it worked out, and we refurbished and renamed about a year ago, and that’s pretty much it, really.”

“Oh, okay, wow,” Julian says, “that worked out for you.”

“Yeah.”

“What was it called before you renamed it?”

“ _Toasty and Co_. The ‘and’ was an ampersand by the way.”

“Who named it _I’ll Do It Latte_?” Julian asks.

Babe twists around, catches sign of the sign plastered on the back wall. It’s wood etched and huge, and has every item listed on it. He turns back.

“I did.”

“Yeah?”

“Bill wanted to call it ‘ _Bean There, Done That_ ’.”

There’s a pause before Julian goes, “That’s an interesting name.”

Babe just grins at him.

x

The next time Julian’s round, for the second coffee and not the first, Babe asks him, “What’s the gig?”

And Julian says, “I’m an internal accountant.”

“Numbers guy, huh?” Babe says, “sounds pretty good.”

Julian smiles. “You reckon?”

“Sure. I mean, those internal accounts. They, uh, they can get kinda--... wild?”

“Only when things don’t balance.”

“God, I hate doing reconciliations.”

“Sounds like it gets wild here, too.”

Babe glances around the shop, then back to Julian. “Well, during mornings, mostly. Mondays are the worst though.”

“There needs to be less of those.”

“Right!” Babe says, “that’s what I keep saying. What’s your day looking like today?”

Julian gestures vaguely, “Figures that balance, if I’m lucky.”

“Will a cookie help?” Babe asks.

“I’m happy to find out.”

x

 _I’ll Do it Latte_ turns one about a month later, and Babe invites Julian and Spina to an after hours party at the shop. (Babe had brought up the story about Spina coming in one morning, and asking if he knew him again a few days before the party. I thought he was angling to fight me or something, he'd added, and Julian had just gone, “Oh, he wanted to know who I was talking about,” with incredibly vagueness, suddenly more interested in the sugar packets stuffed into a tin.)

Everyone’s there. Fran, Renee, Luz and Toye; Doc Roe, who’s been loyal since the days of _Toasty & Co._ He sort of knows Spina, too. Perco’s there as well, though he’s not allowed to borrow any spoons.

Skippenkmalarkey are the last to make it in. Babe introduces the three of them just like that: Skippenkmalarkey, says they’re _practically_ the same person, and sort of interchangeable anyway, so it didn’t matter what you called them. Skip gives him the finger, while Penkala looks like he’s contemplating the statement. Malarkey, ever sensible, just reaches over to shake Julian’s hand. 

“Feel free to call me Don.”

“Excuse me what the fuck,” Skip says, “Who’s Don?”

“Don’s the rice bowl I had for lunch,” Penkala says.

“You go for the beef or chicken?”

“Tofu, actually.”

“Any good?”

“Not as good as Malarkey,” Penkala says, and Malarkey makes a show of rolling his eyes as Penk and Skip dissolve into laughter.

“See what I mean,” Babe says, grabbing at Julian to haul him away.

Soon Renee calls everyone together for cake: a three tier carrot cake with generous layers of cream cheese frosting. Right in the middle of it is a candle, and someone dims the lights, and everyone starts singing the birthday song. 

“Blow out the candle together,” Renee calls over the closing notes, and Babe searches the crowd before he does, catching Julian’s eye and grinning before leaning in to blow the candle out.

“Am I supposed to make a speech?” Bill’s asking, and Babe says, “Did you prepare one?”

“No.”

“Then no speech.”

The relief on Bill’s face makes everyone laugh, and Babe cuts up the cake in mostly even wedges and hands them out to those who want it.

Somehow he ends up eating his piece outside with Julian. ‘Outside’ is behind the building to this neat little square of concrete and a skimpy clothes line. Babe keeps it neat, doesn’t smoke out here and when he tips the mop bucket down the outside sink drain, he’s careful not to splash the water around because it tends to pool and stink rather than evaporate. There’s a couple crates to sit on, and a bike that Bill used to ride into work on, and a shovel for a reason Babe’s never figured out. 

“God this cake’s good,” Julian says.

“Renee’s amazing,” Babe says, “dunno what I’d do without her.”

“Yeah?” Julian says, and there’s a note in his voice that makes Babe look up, the cake forgotten.

The lighting’s kind of shit out here, the surrounding buildings too tall and too closely built together to let in any streetlight. Julian’s standing in a wash of blue-tinted shadow, and there’s a flick of cream on his lip that’s bright in the dark, and Babe’s heart is doing that thing where it feels like it’s skipping and it’s making him feel a little sick (it could also be from the sheer volume of cake he’s eaten, but he hates to blame something so guiltless).

“Yeah,” Babe says, overly casual, “she’s got a little bakery a couple blocks over. Not that you heard it from me or anything, because I’d still like it if you came to my shop.”

Julian laughs, but there’s something distracted in the sound. It’s really too dark to see, but there’s what looks like a dark flush against Julian’s cheeks, and Babe desperately wants to know if he is actually blushing. 

“Hey,” Babe says, wondering if he’s going to ask if he can kiss him, or ask him out, or if he doesn’t mind if he turns on the security lights. 

They’re way too bright for such a small space, and the only thing they’ll get out of it is temporary blindness, but still. Except the door bangs open then, and Bill and Luz and Joe Toye tip out in one loud and messy mass, and the moment disappears. 

Next thing Babe knows is that he’s arguing about who knocked over his plate, and Julian’s melting into a shuddering laugh, and Luz is lighting everyone cigarettes and promising Babe that he’ll ash into the tin. 

“I’ll hunt you down if you don’t,” Babe tells him.

The rest of the night plays out in much the same way, with cake, and coffee, and laughter, and it’s all really kind of glorious. Babe can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the missed opportunity, not when Julian’s there, his blue tie loose around his neck, trading stories with Bill who’s shooting looks at Babe so he _knows_ that he’s telling Julian about the shit he’s gotten into over the years. 

Yeah, you tell him, Babe thinks. His cheeks ache from smiling, and everything is buzzing, his skin, the conversation around him. Tell him anything you want.

x

Somewhere along the line Julian got into the habit of catching Babe at closing time. At first it was a five minute chat before Babe closed the doors, but then became more of a ‘I’m-sticking-around-and-help-thing’ as time went along. Babe had tried to keep him out of the mop and bucket, and had talked him out of stacking chairs a couple times, but Julian had insisted, and in the end they’d agreed on after work drinks to even up. 

“Have you ever made a coffee before,” Babe asks one night.

Bill’s gone by then. Not skiving or anything, but on a date night with Fran. The season’s moving into winter, and outside is very dark, the sidewalk lit up every few feet by streetlights. It’s technically later that usual, too, but neither of them are in any rush, and it’s just… nice. The shop is closed, and it’s warm, and everything smells pleasantly of coffee. There’s just something about the atmosphere, and it makes the edges of everything fuzzy, and it makes Babe sort of think that he’s in love with Julian; with the blue tie he wears that match his eyes, and the way his hair’s flopped over his forehead, and how he’s rolled his sleeves up because he’d been stacking chairs onto the tables.

“A coffee?”

“Yeah,” Babe says, “come here. I’ll show you.”

Julian steps around the counter and approaches where Babe’s standing by the espresso machine. It’s no small beast, shiny and black. Babe’s already cleaned it, but it doesn’t matter. He can clean it again. So he takes Julian through the motions, and he tells him about how fine the beans are ground, and why that’s important; and then about getting the texture of the milk right.

He’s very aware of how close they are, practically hip-to-hip at the machine, and he can smell Julian, the faded scent of his cologne, despite the strong aroma of ground coffee. It’s making him ramble a little. 

“You got it?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Julian says.

“Okay,” Babe says, “now, I’m gonna step out, and you’re gonna serve me.”

“Wait what?”

Babe’s already stepped out, hurrying to the doors and turning around so he can saunter like he’s just walked in.

“Hey,” he says, “just a latte, please.”

Julian’s been staring at him a little wide-eyed, but then he grins and relaxes and goes, “One latte coming up.”

There’s the grind of the beans, and the usual sort of steaming and bubbling, the liquid splash of milk being dunked into a shot of espresso. Babe watches Julian's face the entire time, the stark concentration, his dark eyebrows drawn tightly together, and the way he’s got his mouth parted just so while he does it all. There’s an eyelash on his right cheek, and Babe has to stop himself from reaching out to brush it off, but he really, really wants to. 

“There,” Julian says.

The coffee he hands over is kind of burnt and bitter, and Babe asks for a refund while Julian laughs at him. 

“Stick to numbers,” Babe tells him.

“Okay,” Julian says, “I think I like them better anyway. Guess we have to swap places again now, huh.”

“Nah, you can stay there a little longer if you want. It’s a good look.”

Babe takes another couple of sips from the coffee while Julian takes a look around where he’s standing, touching this or that before finally moving to the pin board mostly hidden behind the counter. There’s pictures tacked on it, notes, receipts, all sorts of things. The first dollar the shop made’s on the board, and Babe watches as Julian brushes over it. He’s got his suit jacket off, and his sleeves rolled up, and his hair’s kind of mussed from where Julian’s dragged his hand through it. The gesture helps him think, not that Julian’s said this, it’s just something Babe’s noticed.

It’s a good look, he’d said, and Julian had grinned at him as if they were sharing the same joke, not fully getting what Babe means. But Babe’s still watching him behind the counter, and it hits him, really hits him, that Julian does look good, and not in any physical sense, but he looks good right there; in that particular spot, standing where Babe stands for the bulk of the day. 

“Why don’t you take off the tie,” Babe says.

Julian looks at him, confused.

“It’s like seven, and you’ve still got that noose around your neck.”

Julian looks down, frowning, and then lifts his hand to pull at the knot. “I don’t really notice it after a while.”

“Yeah?”

“I told you it was a grad present, didn’t I?”

“I think so,” Babe says. Then, “are you stuck? I can help.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Babe puts down the coffee, and steps up to a section of counter that's not cluttered, gesturing Julian to come closer. Julian obliges, and Babe fiddles with the tie, the material slick and glossy under his fingers. His heart is going crazy now, and he thinks, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to undo this, just as it all comes undone.

The cafe’s very quiet. During the day all sorts of noise filters through the closed doors, the traffic sounds, and the murmur of conversation. But right now there’s only their breathing, and the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Babe’s pretty sure they can both hear his heart beating, too.

He says, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that a while.”

“What,” Julian says, “take off my tie?”

“Yeah.”

Julian glances down at it, to where it’s curled up in Babe’s hands.

“You want to try it on?”

“What?”

“Here,” Julian says, already reaching for it, “try it on.”

Babe kind of freezes when Julian drapes the tie around his neck. There’s really nothing for him to do, standing there while Julian loops and tucks, twisting the tie around itself. After about a minute, Julian starts to frown. His fingers pause, and he unravels the tie and starts again, only to run into the same problem.

“Sorry,” he says, “it’s all backwards like this.”

“It’s fine,” Babe tells him, because what else is he meant to do? Tell Julian not to bother? 

His fingers brush the underside of Babe’s jaw, and tickle along his neck, and Babe can’t stop looking at his face, and that damn eyelash. Soon Julian stops. The tie sits with an even pressure at the base of his throat, and Julian snorts.

“Okay,” he says, “that didn’t work.”

Babe looks down, though he can’t really see what he’s looking at. The knot presses at the base of his throat though, and he reaches up and undoes it to do it up proper.

“Catholic school,” is the explanation, “had to do this every day.”

Julian’s gaze jumps between Babe’s hands, and the tie he’s wearing, and it must look really strange when the shirt is a crew neck and not something with a proper collar. 

“Looks good,” Julian says.

“No it doesn’t.”

For a second it looks like Julian’s going to argue, but then his chin dips as he smiles. “The shirt’s a little strange.”

“See," Babe says, "I told you.”

“Maybe you should be an accountant,” Julian says.

“Huh?”

“You had me doing your job, so maybe I should take you to work, and sit you down in my chair, and show you the ropes.”

Julian says this very evenly, but there’s a charge to the words that’s making Babe’s knees weak; mind throwing images at him of Julian sitting him down, hands on his shoulders, of Julian leaning in and telling him what to do. The thing is Julian doesn’t even look all that imposing. They’re basically of height, and Babe’s a couple years older, but Jesus Christ.

“Sure,” Babe says, “yeah, that’d be great.”

He’s only half aware of what he’s agreeing to, really, but Julian smiles either way.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” Babe says. 

It comes out just like that, and Babe’s reaching before Julian can say anything or do anything, scrubbing a finger against his cheek to dust it off. 

Then he says, “There,” but if the lash is gone or not, Babe doesn’t really know. What he does know is that Julian’s skin is warm against his fingers, and that the counter’s running between them, and that he really needs to kiss him. But Julian’s already leaning in, and Babe brings up his other hand to frame Julian’s face proper, and he’s already thinking about climbing over the bench between them. Whose idea was it to put it there anyway? Bill’s probably. 

“Let’s go home.” Babe says it against Julian’s mouth when the kiss breaks apart. “Forget it, let’s go into the storeroom. There’s no camera there.”

Julian’s laughing against his lips. “Okay,” he says, “okay, but let me take off that tie.”


End file.
